


Experimental Pink

by commodorecliche



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Veterinarians, Dogs, First Dates, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Pet Owner, Veterinarian Marco, background reibert, basically jean just being desperate to see the hot vet marco, jean being a dork, jeanmarco, pet paint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:57:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commodorecliche/pseuds/commodorecliche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i><b>Prompt</b>: Marco is a vet and loves animals. Jean is a man who lives alone with two dogs and he find any excuse to get them to visit the cute vet, even when they don't need it.</i> (though I just did one dog, sorry!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Experimental Pink

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt sent to me by an anon. This is another one that was written a while back on tumblr, but that I forgot to post on AO3, whooooops. But it's here now!

As a pet owner, there’s no feeling quite as terrible as the one you get when you wake up in the middle of the night to find your pet ill. It’s almost made worse if you’re woken by the sound of your dog’s sudden barking followed by a pained yelp.

Sometime in the middle of the night, this is what I wake up to. The first noises are the sounds of my dog, Cayman, barking up a storm. It isn’t necessarily an unusual occurrence given the fact that we live out in the sticks and every little noise outside is something that she feels should be barked at. I’m only concerned when I suddenly hear her let out a high pitched yelp in the midst of her already frantic barks and growls. Sitting up in an instant, I fling the covers off and dart into the living room in search of her.

Flipping on the lights, I see my golden retriever standing by the patio doors with a medium-sized corn snake in her mouth, its fangs latched in her snout. I run forward and tell her to drop it as I grab the snake behind the head, prying its mouth off her muzzle as gently, but as quickly, as I can. Once its fangs release, I run to the patio to toss it away. I fling it hard across the railing, mostly hoping that it will proceed to fuck off, having learned a lesson about coming into the house, before I run back inside to my girl.

She’s huddled up in the corner, whimpering and trying her best to rub at her bleeding snout with her paw. I shoo away her paws, instructing her to sit still as I inspect the bite. Corn snakes are fairly common around here, especially out here in the boonies, but they rarely come into people’s houses. I don’t particularly wanna think about exactly _how_ it got in, thinking instead about how I need to call the 24 hour emergency vet to have this looked at. Corn snakes aren’t venomous, but I’m not willing to risk an infection from the saliva. I lead Cayman into the kitchen and wet a rag to brush against the wounds while fumbling for the phone to call the vet’s office.

They tell me that I can go ahead and bring her in, and I only take a moment to change my clothes and attach a leash to her before we’re out the door.

**::**

Sitting in the waiting room at 2 am, I do my best to console my whimpering pup, tenderly inspecting the slightly swollen bite on her muzzle.

“Mr. Kirschstein?” A male voice asks and I jerk my head up. Standing at the door that leads to the back rooms is a young, freckle-faced man in a white coat. My first thought, I’m ashamed to admit is, _“Fuck, he’s hot…”,_ my second thought is wondering where exactly my _usual_ vet, Dr. Leonhardt, is.

I nod to him and stand, beckoning my dog along with her leash. He smiles a calm and reassuring smile to me as he stands aside to let me through the door.  

“This is Cayman?” He asks politely as I pass him through the door, pausing to follow him as he guides me back to a room.

“Uh, yeah. Where’s Dr. Leonhardt?”

The guy glances back at me before opening the door to one of the rooms and gesturing for us to enter. He follows us and closes the door behind him gently. 

“Dr. Leonhardt has switched clinics. She’s working a little closer to her home now. I’m her replacement, Dr. Bodt.”

He offers me his hand, which I take gently, squeezing it ever so slightly.

“I’m Jean.” I mumble as I shake his hand, brain juggling a flurry of conflicting emotions – worry about my pup and a sudden nervousness as I stand in the presence of this uh, _very_ attractive male specimen in a lab coat.

“Good to meet you, though I’m sure you would rather it not be under these circumstances.” Dr. Bodt laughs, beginning to flip through Cayman’s chart, staring at a couple fresh notes that are in it.

He glances over at her, stepping forward and crouching down in front of her to inspect her muzzle.

“So we got a snake bite, huh?

“Yeah.” I say back, watching as he looks the bite over.

“When did it happen?”

“About 45 minutes ago, I guess.”

“And what kind of snake? Or do you not know?”

“Pretty positive it was a corn snake…”

“Okay, so, not venomous, then, that’s good. No vomiting, convulsions, nothing like that, right?” He asks, eyes still grazing over the wound as he inspects it. He touches a particularly sensitive spot and Cayman lets out a light yelp at the touch. Dr. Bodt is quick to respond, petting her gently. “I know, baby girl, it hurts, I’m sorry.”

“No, nothing like that.”

Dr. Bodt stands quickly and catches my eyes.

“Good, good. Must not have a very big one... The bite looks relatively small, though it is swelling a decent bit.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t very big… But it got a good hold on her.”

“Looks like it, you poor thing,” He coos, addressing my dog tenderly before turning his attention back to me. “I’d like to clean it out here, and I think it’s probably best we get an antibiotic on it too. You know, it’s not a bad bite, but I don’t want her to get an infection or anything. Snakes can carry some nasties sometimes, so I’d just rather be safe than sorry.” Dr. Bodt says calmly, leaning down to scratch Cayman behind her ear. She seems happy in his presence, calmer and enjoying his touch.

“Okay, that sounds good.”

“Let me go grab some things so we can clean this out and get you two out of here. Can you get her up on the table or would you like some help?”

I’m only moderately ashamed that the first thing I think is: _“Oh yes, sir, please. For I cannot lift my dog and need the help of a strapping, muscular lad such as yourself.”_  

“I can do it.” I say instead, and Dr. Bodt nods.

“Okay, I’ll be right back, two seconds.”

Once he’s out of the room, I lift my dog up onto the exam table and pet her softly, waiting in silence until he returns. He’s back fairly quickly, a few wound wash and cleaning products in his hands, which he sets down next to her. He doesn’t waste time, cleaning the wound quickly and thoroughly. Cayman, for the most part, is quiet with the exception of a few soft whimpers when he touches a more sensitive portion.

“That’s a good girl,” Dr. Bodt coos at her, gently continuing his attention to the wound. “She’s pretty calm. A lot of dogs would just be wailing and whining with a bite like this.”

“Yeah, she’s a brave girl…” I say, patting her back softly.

Dr. Bodt tends to the wound for a few more minutes, spreading a small cream across the puncture holes of the bite. Cayman, for the most part, barely flinches at the touch, letting him tend gently to the wound.

“Alrighty, so we got it cleaned, and I just spread some topical amoxicillin on it. I think that should be sufficient. It’s not a deep bite or anything. I am gunna send you home with just a few anti-inflammatories, just so it doesn’t swell anymore, aaaaand probably some pain meds. Cause we don’t want her up all night hurtin’, okay?”

“Okay, sounds great.”

Dr. Bodt quickly turns his attention back to Cayman.

“That work for you too, sweet cheeks?” He asks her and she wags her tail at him, giving his face a small lick. He laughs, “Oh, I guess so, thank you.”

He finishes up, washing his hands, and making a few brief notes in the chart.

“So Connie’s up front, he’s our night guy, he can get you checked out.”

“Do you usually work the graveyard shift?” I ask, not really thinking as I attempt to make awkward conversation with my vet.

“Hah, no, not usually. I just take weekend night call once in a while. Why? Do I look tired?” He laughs, glancing over at me for a moment before returning his attention back to the chart.

“No, you look great.” _Fuck_. “I-I mean, uh, you look fine. I mean, you, you don’t look tired.” My words stammer past my lips, but Marco seems unfazed, the gentle smile staying on his face as he closes up the chart and looks back at me.

_Real smooth, Jean._

“Good to know.” Dr. Bodt says, “Okay, you should be set to go.” He reaches into the front pocket of his lab coat and pulls out a card and offers it to me. “Here’s my card, it’s got my cell number, okay?”

My stomach flips, am I actually getting offered his number?

“If she starts acting weird,” Dr. Bodt continues, “you know, not eating, vomiting, excessive lethargy or anything like that, please do not hesitate to give me a call, okay?”

 _Oh_.

I nod, taking the card from in between his fingers.

“Will do.” I say calmly.

Dr. Bodt moves and opens up the door, allowing me and Cayman to pass through to head back towards the front.

“It was great to meet you, Jean.” He says, offering his hand to me once more. I take it with a brief shake and release him. “Connie will get you checked out.”

“Thank you for help, Dr. Bodt.”

“Please, call me Marco.

And with that, he’s gone, turning down the hallway to head to the back offices. I head to the front, handing my chart to the guy behind the desk.

“All set?” He asks, flipping through the chart and finding the billing sheet.

“Yeah.”

“Want to schedule a follow up for her?” He asks me as he types in a few things on his computer.

I pause.

“Yeah, what does Dr. Bodt have open?”

**::**

I schedule a follow up appointment for a week later. Over the following days, I’m torn between happy relief that my puppy has healed up well from her bite, and mild disappointment that she didn’t at least whine or roll over dramatically, or _something_ , just to give me an excuse to call Marco on his cell. But at least I get to take her back in to see him again.

By the time her follow up appointment rolls around, I’m in the car with her and headed to the vet’s office early, because I’m a lonely man who wants to see his hot veterinarian again, sue me. I also have zero self-respect. At least my dog doesn’t judge me. Not much, at least.  

I check in and wait patiently. And I’m actually a little surprised when it's a vet tech, and not Marco, who calls my name and takes me back to the exam room. The girl who takes us back – Mina – is nice enough. She’s seen me plenty of times before and is always very helpful, but I’m not here to see her. She goes through the usual with Cayman, and asks me a few questions about how she’s healed up after the bite. I tell her that overall, the bite has been fine, only fibbing a little bit when I mention that she’s been a bit lethargic. Because she _hasn’t_ been lethargic or anything, but I’m sort of hoping it might allow me to make another follow up appointment with Dr. Handsome, you know, "juuuuust in case".

(Look, I _told_ you I have no self-respect, alright? At least I’m self-aware.)

Mina makes a couple extra notes until finally she closes up the chart and turns to leave, telling me that Dr. Bodt will be by in a bit to see me.

It takes a while – quite a while, actually – before there’s finally another knock at my door. Marco pokes his head in and slides inside with a bright smile.

“Hey there, you two. Ugh, I’m so sorry you had to wait so long, Dr. Reiss and I have just been  _slammed_ today. It’s been non-stop. Anyway,” he pauses, turning his attention to Cayman who has been desperately vying for his attention since he came in the room. Which, granted, so have I, I’m just more subtle about it. Like, damn, calm down, girl, you look desperate.

Marco pets her as she clamors around his legs, and pauses her to inspect the spot of the bite.

“Looks like this is healing up great, you had any problems at all?”

“Um. No, I mean… it healed up well, didn’t look infected or anything.”

“I guess her energy has been a little up and down? Mina made a note that she'd been a bit lethargic, but she seems to be pretty energetic right now.” He asks, looking over her eyes and ears briefly, before releasing her.

I pat my leg and Cayman comes back to my side, sitting down beside me.

“I mean, she’s been good mostly. She sometimes can randomly get really lethargic though…” 

Quietly, I tap her neck twice and click at her, and Cayman obediently flops down over to her side and plays dead.

“See, look, there she goes. So, what do you think? That seem bad? Do you think we should come back?”

Marco looks at me with a mix of amusement and surprise – a big smile still plastered on his face – and he chuckles.

“That’s cute.” He says with a light scoff and a nod.

“Cute?” I ask with mock offense, “Look at her, she's collapsed.”

Cayman flops her head over dramatically, staying on the ground and sighing deeply.

“Heheh… Well, then my professional diagnosis is that she’s very well trained and quite cute. But so far, cuteness hasn't been shown to be deadly. I think she’s fine. That was funny though.”

Marco smiles and bites his lip.

I shrug and smile.

“Worth a shot.”

“Well, everything looks good to me. I think you two should be set.”

I nod softly, the smile on my lips fading ever so slightly as I gather up Cayman’s leash and stand to leave.

“Hate to leave you so soon,” Marco starts, opening up the door for me, “but I gotta get to some other rooms.”

I’m a little startled when he rests his hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze, before releasing it and turning his attention downward to pet my pup once more.

“Nice to see you again, though, Jean.” He tells me, looking back up at me with a grin.

“Same.” I say shortly, smiling back. “Thank you, Dr. Bodt.”

I turn away to head to the front, but Marco’s voice stops me.

“Please, I told you, call me Marco.”

“Thank you, Marco.”

“Till next time.”

And with that, he waves at me and heads down the hall to another exam room.

**::**

Unfortunately, I don’t find an excuse to head back to the vet’s office over the next couple of weeks. Three’s a part of me that walks past my fridge every day, sees the business card that says **“Marco Bodt, DVM”** with his phone number, and tells me to just quit being stupid and call him. But I’ve never been good at making the first move, and plus, there’s no telling whether or not guys are even his thing. And in the (likely) event that he _isn’t_ into guys, there’s always the chance that I’ll do nothing but make him uncomfortable, and then I’ll have to find a new vet.

So, as much as I would _like_ to, I just can’t find the courage to contact him first.

However, after a while of waiting, I finally get my chance.

My excuse to see Marco comes randomly in the form of a a bit of serendipity, AKA, Reiner Braun: my friend who has a nigh-unhealthy obsession with pet costumes.

Out of the blue, and unannounced, Reiner shows up at my door one day, an excited grin on his face and a conniving twinkle in his eyes, holding a bag of something called “Pet Paint”. He pushes past me into the house, prattling on to me about how he found something that we just _HAVE_ to try on Cayman. He pulls out one of the cans with a hot pink label and hands it to me.

I take one look at the label, at the poor dog on the can with painted-on pink stripes, and shake my head.

“Dude, no way.” I tell him firmly.

“Ugh, why not?" Reiner whines, gesturing at the can, "It’s totally safe! Look, it’s _MADE_ for pets!”

“You are not spray painting my dog pink.”

“But she’s a pretty lady! Let’s make her prettier!”

“Don’t you have your own dog to torture?”

“…Bert won’t let me redecorate him for at least a week.” Reiner admits slowly. 

“What was it this time?”

“I just really wanted to paint a skeleton pattern on him! For Halloween, you know?”

“Halloween?? It’s June!”

“…Yeah? Also known as, Hot-a-ween, thank you.”

“Oh my god.”

“Come on, Jeannnnnn.” Reiner whines.

“Nooope.”

Reiner leaves in a huff after several more minutes of pestering, until I it finally sinks in that I don’t plan on letting him use my dog as his own personal puppy-canvas.

What happens _later_ is not something that I’m particularly proud of, but it happens none the less.

After a couple hours, I find myself sitting on the couch and thinking about Marco, wishing there were an easy way (one that doesn't actually involve my dog getting injured) to get back to the vet’s office to see him. It’s only by chance that I turn my head and glance at the can of Pet Paint Reiner had left, forgotten, sitting on the end table.

I stare at it for a moment before leaning over and grabbing the can up, glancing over its label. Holding it in my hand, I let my gaze rest on Cayman. She’s sitting patiently by the couch, staring up at me with a look in her eyes that tells me she knows _exactly_ what I’m thinking and that she absolutely doesn’t approve.

“It could work.” I say to her, but her expression doesn’t change.

I stare at her for another moment, before sighing and standing up, calling her to follow me to the bathroom.

Look, I already I told you I'm not proud of this, but what else is new?

I move aside the bathroom rug, making an open space on the tile, before inviting her in and closing the door behind us. I stare at her for a moment and sigh. I shake up the can of paint and spray a few quick spritzes of it along her sides, making a couple hot pink lines in her fur. She’s obedient and sits still, and yet continues to stare at me as if she knows exactly why I’m doing this. 

If dogs possess the capability to judge their owners, then I know that she is judging me with all the _judginess_ she can muster.

“Don’t give me that look…” I say, spraying a little bit of it along her neck.

She sneezes dramatically, flinging snot droplets and drool on my face, and I’m almost positive it was on purpose. I groan and reach up quickly to wipe them off my face and out of my hair.

“Thanks for that, real nice.” I tell her before continuing with the spray.

By the time I’m done, my poor dog looks like a hot pink, splotchy Jackson Pollock canvas, and I need a moment to simply take her in before I allow myself to believe that this is, in any way, a smart idea.

Ugh, the things I do to get the attention of a hot guy.

Before I can think too much more about it, I let her out of the bathroom, snatch up her leash and clip it on, asking her in a happy, excited voice if she wants to go for a ride. At the sound of the R-Word, she forgets all about the festive color of her fur, and pulls me enthusiastically towards the door to head to the car, tail wagging all the way.

**::**

I park at the vet’s office and breathe in deeply, hoping to god Marco is at least here today. God, what a waste this would be if I wound up seeing Dr. Reiss instead, dear god. I shake my head and grab my dog’s leash. She hops out of the car with me and we head inside. 

I have to work _extremely_ hard to ignore the way some of the people in the waiting room are staring at my hot pink painted canine, but somehow, I manage. I keep my focus, ignoring their stares and walking calmly towards the desk.

Sasha, sitting behind the desk, smiles at me as I approach, but her grin fades quickly when she lays eyes on Cayman.

“Uh… Hey, Jean.”

“Does Dr. Bodt have time for a walk-in?” I ask her calmly. 

She pauses for a moment, before glancing at the computer, then back at Cayman, then up to me, and then back at the computer. She nods steadily.

“Yeeeah… He uh, he’s free in like 15 minutes. What uh… what exactly… should I put as the reason for your visit today?”

I clear my throat.

“Possible toxicity?” I say with as much conviction as I can manage.

“Oookay, then. Mina will… put you in a room.”

**::**

Once in the exam room, I wait patiently for Marco to come by and see us, doing my best to practice in my head what I plan to tell him. I’m going to attempt to use the _“neighborhood hoodlums did this and I don’t know if it’s safe for my dog”_   lines, and just hope he buys it.

This is, honestly, _really_ stupid and Cayman is _still_ giving me that look that tells me she knows exactly how ridiculous I’m being.

“I know, I know,” I groan to her with a sigh.

After a few minutes, a knock sounds on the door, and I feel my stomach flip. Marco slips in quickly, shutting the door behind me and looking at me.

“Jean, a pleasure, as always…” He says jovially at first, but his voice changes when he glances down at my dog: bright pink, staring up at him happily and wagging her tail. His voice gets a little confused and flat. “And… Cayman…” Marco trails off as he looks at her. He points to her and darts his gaze back to me. “Um. Why is she pink?”

“Oh, uh. That’s actually why I’m here.”

“Dogs spontaneously turning pink might be a _little_ outside my scope of practice.” Marco laughs. 

“Very funny. No, uh…” I stammer, dragging my hand over the nape of my neck awkwardly, “ I think some uh, kids or something, sprayed her down when she was in the back yard. Just wanna make sure it’s not like… toxic or anything.”

Cayman whines and shoots me a look. Silently, I will her not to judge me too hard, and to please still love me after this is over.

Marco just smiles at me and nods.

“Alright.” He pats the table top, beckoning Cayman up on top of it. “Come on, girlie, hop up.”

She does so without hesitation, lying down atop the exam table once Marco begins to touch her. He strokes the pink spots on her fur, separating the hairs a bit to inspect her skin. He checks his skin to see if any of it has come off on him, but it hasn’t. He looks around her eyes and in her ears, seeing if any of it had gotten in an orifice. None of it has, and I know that, but I’m not about to give myself away.

He fondles at Cayman’s thick coat once more, before leaning down closer to her. He sniffs at the fur gently, getting a whiff of the pink splotches before lifting his head and giving her a gentle pet.

“Okay, this doesn’t _smell_ potent or toxic or anything like that.” Marco shakes his head and laughs, “Heck, going by the smell, this might actually be that spray paint that they make for dogs. What is it called? Um. Pet Paint or something.”

I shrug silently, feigning innocence.

“So you must have some very, uh, _courteous_ vandals in your neighborhood, huh?”

“Guess so,” I say awkwardly. Maybe I can save this. “So… she’s okay?” I ask, knowing full well that she’s fine.

“Yeah. In need of a bath. But she’s fine, Jean.”

Marco laughs and shakes his head, taking a step away from my dog and headed towards the sink. He washes his hands and dries them before turning back to me. He reclines back against the counter and crosses his arms across his chest.

He laughs once more and glances at his feet and shaking his head.

“Now… I uh, I feel like I should tell you that… you, you actually… have a bunch of pink… on your face and your hair… right now.”

My face falls.

 _Fuck_ , seriously?

Absently, I bring a hand up to my face and rub, looking at the pink residue on my fingers when I bring them back down. Goddamnit, I must have smeared some on myself when I wiped my face earlier. Fuck.

I feel like I should probably say something, because, well… this was a half-assed attempt at creating a reason to come to the vet. But I can’t exactly tell him that.

“She must have rubbed it on me…” I say with a shrug.

Marco nods, grinning slyly.

“Must have.” He says amusedly, his voice telling me he doesn’t believe me.

He pauses for a moment before softly clearing his throat.  

“Look, Jean… How about this?” Marco leans up off the counter and stands back at Cayman’s side. “How about next time, you don’t come to the office? Because,” Marco laughs and shakes his head again, “I feel like this might be getting a little expensive for you.”

I glance down awkwardly, idling myself with running my hand over Cayman’s fur gently.  Marco stops me, resting his hand over mine suddenly.

“How about, instead, if you want to see me, we just go somewhere together?”

I jerk my gaze up to him.

“Wait... really?” I ask him softly.

Marco nods.

“Yes. One condition though...” He pauses for a moment, lifting his hand off of mine and scratching behind Cayman’s ears. “You _have_ to wash your dog.” He instructs me sternly.

“Why?" I ask, eyes darting to my poor, spray-painted pup, "Is it bad for her?”

“No, it’s just rude to leave her pink.”

I snort out a laugh and nod my head.

“Fair enough.”

“Okay." Marco says with a small grin, "I’m off at four today.”

**::**

**Author's Note:**

> PSA: Please don't leave your dogs pink. It's rude. :) 
> 
> Ugh, what a fun prompt this was! I had such a good time writing this. 
> 
> You can find a rebloggable version [HERE](http://commodorecliche.tumblr.com/post/122032746603/prompt-marco-is-a-vet-and-loves-animals-jean-is). 
> 
> And as usual, you can find me on either my [tumblr](http://commodorecliche.tumblr.com) or on my [twitter](http://twitter.com/commodorecliche). 
> 
> Thanks for reading everyone!


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